Anniversary
by Gossamer Nightmare
Summary: It's a special day for England and America. But one doesn't seem to remember it in the slightest...


Anniversary

**A/N:** An idea I got in History class. Enjoy!

The poem in this is by Rupert Brooke, and is in no way mine. Axis Powers Hetalia and all its characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.

**Rating: **T, for implied sexual action.

**Summary:** It's a special day for England and America. But one doesn't seem to remember it in the slightest....

**Pairings:** EnglandxAmerica, obviously.

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England groggily slams his fist down on the alarm clock. He stretches in bed and smiles. Arms are wrapped around his naked torso, holding him against the warm chest of his lover. He knows he has to get up. So he wriggles out from the grasp around him, pulls the covers back up over the sleeping figure still in bed, and finds the clothes he laid out prior to his dreaming. He pulls his brown pants up, zippers, buttons, and loops and clasps his belt. As he pulls his shirt on and begins to button it, he shuffles back over to the bed and lays a gentle kiss on the forehead of his partner. Said partner groans and rubs at his eyes.

"Wha' time 's it," he slurs, covering his eyes. England smirks as he fastens his tie around his neck, pulling it up so that it comfortably rests at his throat.

"Time for you to get up," England grabs his wrist and tugs until America is sitting upright on the bed. He then pulls a black vest on, buttons it, and over this throws a brown jacket.

"Dun wanna get up," America complains, but slides from bed nonetheless, slipping on his half-rimmed spectacles. He pulls a pair of jeans on, grinning sleepily at the roll of green eyes. After this, a dress shirt; when England sees this, he takes his opportunity upon himself.

Sauntering up to America, he seizes the dress shirt in his hands, buttons the first of many, and looks up at him, smiling coyly. Each and every button earned America a sweet kiss on the lips. America soon found himself longing for more buttons on his shirt. The last kiss they shared was something he found too painful to break. He wrapped his arms around England's shoulders, pressed their foreheads together and asked, "And to what occasion do I get so much affection in one morning?"

England's heart sank. He bit his lip and looked away, willing his fists to stop clenching so tightly on America's arms. Slipping from America's embrace, he buttons his coat, pulls on his shoes and mutters darkly, "Just felt like waking you up well today." And he slams the door on his way out.

All through his meeting, England bitterly thinks of this day. He thinks, 'I should have never even bothered with today. Bloody twat, forgetting like that! I knew it would come to this!' He snarls and glares at the table, drowning out the foreign policies and the state of the world economy, thinking that when he gets home, he will destroy the present he had set aside—the present he had worked on for weeks on end, the present he had toiled away at for _America_, for _today_. He thinks how stupid he was for thinking that America would even care to remember an important day like their anniversary. When the meeting ends, he bolts upright, rips the door open and leaves it swinging there.

On the cold streets, England buys a cup of tea (as it is far too early to get a drink at a pub). The lady working the small coffee house has a cheerful voice he doesn't care to listen to. When he's told the price, he pats at his pockets for his wallet. A strange lump like a piece of paper in one, his wallet in the other; he pulls out his wallet, pays the woman, grabs his tea and heads out the door. As he does, he slips his free hand into the other pocket, finding a neatly-folded piece of paper when he withdraws it. Curiosity pulls him to it. He sips slowly on his drink, careful not to spill it, and opens the note, hanging on every word.

_Arthur,_

"_In your arms was still delight,  
Quiet as a street at night;  
And thoughts of you, I do remember,  
Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,  
Were dark clouds in a moonless sky…"_

—_Alfred_

_Happy Anniversary!_

Arthur stopped walking down the streets to read it. He smiles to himself. A great relief is taken from him. "So he did remember…" He shakes his head and laughs, so relieved and so happy, he tucks the note into his wallet with care, places it back into his pocket and walks home with a spring in his step, happy to know that Alfred remembered, happy to remember that he has the whole rest of the day to spend with him.

He returns home and shouts, "Alfred!" England is greeted by a massive hug, to which he hugs back, spun around in the air. Though he can hardly breathe, he is delighted to be held so close to America's heart. When he is placed down again and the world stops spinning, he grabs America by the hand and tugs him along. "Come now, I have something for you."

America is confused by this, but he follows suit. "Sure thing!"

They reach the bedroom. From his dresser, he pulls a small wooden box. From the small box, he pulls a golden band engraved with flowing calligraphy, with one small diamond inlaid at the beginning and end of the phrase. It reads a simple, _"Loving you forever…" _England slips the band onto America's ring finger, raising the hand to his lips and kissing it. All this time, America's eyes are wide, glittering bright and happy, unable to tear themselves from the green-eyed man he has loved all these years, the man that he would always love forever more. When England kisses him, this spell seems to break, and he embraces England twice as tightly as before, unwilling to let him go, always willing to pull him closer.

England plays with America's hair, running his hands through it, smiling still. America's head rests on his bare chest, opened, glasses removed. Green and blue never look away from one another. 'He looks so much younger without them…' England thinks. He closes his eyes after some time, laying his head back, listening to the soft sounds of his America breathing evenly, warm breath cast onto his exposed skin. This lullaby rocks him into deep sleep. As he dreams, not once does his smile falter.

In the morning, when the alarm clock sirens, America groggily slams his fist down on it. The warm comfort of the bed and the sleeping figure in his arms tells him to sleep just a little longer…


End file.
